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Nick looks between me and his brother. “What are you thinking?”

“A new group of Dukes will come in next year and technically we’ll have to give up the tower, right?”

Remy snorts, wiping his finger through a thick coat of dust on the nearby desk before blowing it off in a puff. “You want to live surrounded by the ghosts of Forsyth’s past?”

“Someone needs to preserve this.” This town is bigger than what’s on the surface and the deeper I dig, the more I may be able to untangle the web of destruction in Forsyth. “There’s a lot of history here.”

“This whole side of West End is coming along too,” Sy considers. “For all his faults, Saul was pretty good at investing.”

“It’d be cool to be near Jade,” Remy says, and I think about her shop across the street. I watch him pull the marker from behind his ear and twirl it between his fingers before he announces, “You know, I’ve been thinking about finding a spot for a tattoo parlor, bringing in some of the other talent in the area, you know other body art like piercings, and setting up shop.”

“Oh,” I say, smiling at him, “I love that idea.”

“Yeah?” He grins back. “It’d be cool, right? It’d have to have a killer name like, like Bruin Ink, or Madman Tattoos, or…”

“Royal.” I hold up a copy of one of the yellowed newspapers, the name printed across the top. “Royal Ink.”

“Royal Ink.” Sy slowly nods. “I like the sound of that and I’ve got some inherited blood money I’d be happy to invest.”

Nick crosses his arms over his chest, a wicked grin lighting up his face. “It’s classy.”

Classy isn’t a word I’d ever choose for my rough and tumble Dukes, but the idea of building a life with them, having a home of our own, a business, and the future that comes with it, feels right.

6

UNSTOPPABLE

Lavinia

I’m already awake when I hear the quietsquickand softthwuckof the freezer door opening and closing across the room. Even half asleep, I know it’s a Prince–Lex in particular. He’s too quiet to be one of my men, plus Remy left earlier, fingers grazing over the star on my hip, with the whispered promise of making the streets of West End blue again. Sy’s arms are wrapped around me, his chest rising and falling under my cheek. He actuallyisasleep, finally succumbing to the exhaustion of sitting by while his brother is stretched out in the middle of the room, fighting for his life.

Even though Lex Ashby and I have forged a strange bond over keeping Nick alive, I pretend to be asleep as he passes the three of us, and he doesn’t hesitate before entering Verity’s bedroom. I don’t blame him. Sy and I are both down to our underwear, our outer clothes in a pile on the floor. I’ve read grief does strange things to you. Apparently, it makes us horny or, at the very least, desperate for connection.

When I’m sure Lex is in for the night, I disentangle myself from Sy’s long limbs. Or try. His hands grip my ass. “What’s wrong?” he asks, voice gruff with sleep.

“Nothing. He’s fine. Go back to sleep.”

His eyes flutter open, and I see the fear and anger in them. We’ve been through a lot in our time together, but none as scary as almost losing his brother.

He rubs his hand over his face. “I should catch up with Remy.”

“No.” My voice is firm. “You promised.” I’ve got one man recovering from a bullet and another hunting down the shooter. The only reason Sy is still here is that I begged him to stay. “He’s got backup and support from the other territories.” Pace had been the one to get the intel on where Oakfield had been holed up since he made the biggest fuck-up of his life. Sy’s a King now. He doesn’t need to get involved in carrying out justice and revenge.

Also, we need him here.

Fine.Ineed him here.

“Head to bed.” I press a kiss against his throat. “Yourrealbed. If shit hits the fan,” which it undoubtedly will, “you need to be rested.”

His fingers graze under my eyes. I don’t need a mirror to know they’re shadowed. “Only if you come with me. You’ve been up for two days.”

I nod, but add, “Let me check on him one last time.”

He lifts me off his lap and I get an eyeful of his body; the hard muscles of his chest, tapering down to the ladder of abs that come from Perilini genetics plus hours of relentless training. His boxer briefs are tight, molded against his ass and thighs. There’s no missing the thick line of his cock resting against his leg. That thing used to scare the hell out of me. Now, it ignites a warm pool of heat in my lower belly.

“Don’t take long,” he tells me, flicking his eyes over Nick’s resting body, the soft sound of his breath rising and falling. The monitor Lex hooked him up to is beeping with regularity and the drip of fluids has another hour or two left. I watch as he crosses the room and enters our bedroom. We’ve only been living in this building for a short period of time, but it hasn’t taken long for it to feel like home. It’s nice no longer living in a glorified frat house overlooking Forsyth, but the cozy feeling is definitely marred by the sight of the den being turned into a makeshift hospital room.

The events unfolded in a way that there’s no doubt in my mind divine intervention came into play. The universe wanted Nick alive. Otherwise, why would that shot hit the side of his neck and pass through? Why would Lex Ashby even be in West End, much less living in our house? Why would he have a refrigerated truck of blood at his disposal? Why would everything be aligned, perfectly in place, to save the man I love?